The Art of Getting By
by JustAnotherTeenageWriter
Summary: Several months ago on a rainy night Katara lost everything she'd ever know in the blink of an eye. She's developed way of saving herself from the pain. But can she really handle it without destroying herself in the process? Modern AU. Zutara.


_AN: Trigger warning. SI TRIGGER WARNING_

* * *

_Maybe it's just a scratch. _

I stare at the girl seated opposite from me. Some people might notice the girl because she's stunning. Others might notice her for her vibrant red hair. I'm sure a lot of the guys in my class could notice that you could see her bra through her shirt. But my eye's are focused on something else. An angry red scratch, about three inches long, that run's parallel from her elbow to her wrist.

_How did she get it? She doesn't look the type. Maybe she has a cat. A whole bunch of kittens. _

_Yeah, that's it. Playing with her kitty. That's probably how it happened. Totally innocent. _

I slump down in my seat. Unfortunately, the girl picks this moment to turn and look at me. She's caught me starring at her. I panic, and cannot turn away.

The girl turns away from me and begins to whisper to one of her friends seated next to her.

I can hear the faint sounds of their whispering, but I cannot make out the words.

I still have a bad feeling that they're talking about me. And I know what they're saying, too.

_She's the girl with no parents. _

_No, she's the one who _killed _her parents. _

Their whisper remind me of the sound of dry leaves on an autumn day. I have always hated the sound. The leaves are supposed to be on trees, full of life, and instead they're on the ground, dead. Being stepped on my careless people too busy going about their day to notice that they're there.

I have to fight the urge to cover my ears with my hands. I don't want to call anymore attention to myself than I already have. But I need to stop the noise.

I can feel the anxiety that it causes rising up in my chest, tightening it, making it harder for me to breath. The sound is engulfing me, like flames on paper.

I can feel it coming. The onslaught of emotions I try to avoid at all costs.

I stand up suddenly, grabbing the edge of my desk for support.

Dead silence.

Everyone is starring at me. I feel the blush on my cheeks, I hear a few snickers in the back of the class, but I don't bother to turn around and see who it is. I don't want to know. I know I;ll pay for this moment later.

The two girls who were just whispering are now glaring at me.

I can feel my face redden even more.

"Katara?" my teacher asks, alarmed. I can see on her face that she's concerned. She doesn't seem like she's pretending. She's just a nice person.

_She's nice to the fat kids, the weird pimply kids, so why not the orphan kids? Why not the killer kids? _

"I just..." I say my mind racing, scrambling for an excuse, any excuse at all. "Just, the bathroom." I say finally. Mentally kicking myself for such a poor excuse.

My teacher nods at me, giving me permission to go.

I can hear more kids laughing now. But I don't really care. The damage is already done at this point. I pick up all of my things and practically sprint towards the door.

I can hear the kid's words chasing after me. But I barely notice, I'm on a mission. And I have one thing on my mind.

I walk swiftly down the hallway, heading towards the girl's restroom.

When I enter the small, dingy room I am blissfully alone. I enter the nearest stall and begin rooting in my purse for what I need.

My mind is racing, going over the events of the last few minutes. How could I have been so stupid? Why did I have to get to emotional? All I really did was make those kids realize that I'm an even bigger freak then what they first thought I was.

As I dig through my purse, I fell my pulse pick up even more. I can't find what I so desperately need.

Finally, when I'm just about to panic, my hand clasps its self around the little box that I carry around with me everywhere.

I open it quickly and pull a small, shiny piece of metal out of it.

I put it between my teeth for a moment as I role my sleeve up. Once I have an area to work with I begin the unthinkable and I start to drag the metal across my skin. Over and over and over and over again. Making each laugh a line in my skin.

Maybe next time I won't embarrass myself like that. Maybe next time I'll think.

I look at my arm, at the blood sprouting up, like daisies in the springtime.

With each line I realize just how much I deserve it all.


End file.
